


Something to Unsay

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2005-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted.  Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...</p><p>A.U. for added plotline.  WIP </p><p>Slash-Angst-Some Very Explicit Violence and Sexual Content</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

By Milly of Isengard  
Gandalf/Saruman/Legolas/Gimli/Aragorn/Théoden/Grima/Annatar...  
(In which the characters of the VOS are redeemed- a hard backhanded blow to Peter Jackson's VOS )  
NC-17 Graphic Sex/ Violence / Angst

W.I.P!!!

 

 

The riders approached the mud strewn ruins of Isengard- Gandalf the White rode in front, dreading the confrontation to come, and yet knowing there was no way out.

He glanced at Théoden behind him, and saw the naked hatred on the King's face- nothing would do but that Saruman the Wise must fall, and justice be meted out.

Gandalf thought wearily, trying to come up with a plan of action that would allow Saruman to surrender- without being slaughtered first- and that would allow him to 'save face' enough to be willing to do so.

The Tower of Orthanc loomed above them, and around the great ancient Tower were the various ruined machines of Saruman's reign of terror: spiked wheels, broken scaffolds, and dead Uruks and Orcs still lay in the mud.

In war there is little time to bury the dead, for anyone.

As they rode closer, Gandalf whispered softly: "Be careful! Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous!"

Gimli snorted angrily, "Then let's just have his head and be done with it, then!" Gandalf turned to him gravely- so eager to kill, so anxious to spill the blood of their foes!

He sighed, and said sharply: "No! If there is another way, we will take that path! Has there not been enough death, yet?"

Gimli looked chastened, and lowered his head.

Saruman suddenly appeared, at the very pinnacle of the Tower. He leaned on his metal Staff, and regarded them with a badly disguised baleful glare.

"Ah, the noble victors approach! What do you want here, why do you come to Isengard?"

Théoden answered him abruptly, saying : "You know why we have come, Saruman, traitor! We have come to avenge the lives lost to your duplicity and treachery, though one life can scarcely atone for so many!"

Saruman smiled slightly, and did not answer in anger, but only replied:

"Can we not have peace, Théoden, you and I? The battle is done, and the dead of both sides lie on the fields yet. Can we not have - a truce? For long we took counsel together, and long was our friendship. Can we not have some measure of decency about all this?"

Théoden fairly sneered with contempt as he answered: "Yes- we shall have peace-" the others looked at in surprise- "We shall have peace when you pay for your murders and crimes, and hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows! Then, and only then, we shall have peace!"

Saruman's look changed to one of bitterness and scorn, and as he watched in silence, Gandalf could sense his alarm and hidden fear.

As an Istar himself, he was very attuned to his fellow Maia's emotions and moods.

Saruman replied in rage: "Gibbets and crows! Dotard! You are an imposter, Théoden! You are the lesser heir of greater predecessors- horselord!"

He turned then to Gandalf:

"And what of you, then, Gandalf? Do you aspire for the Keys of Orthanc, and Barad-Dur as well? And then you shall have the One Ring for yourself, and all that it brings! I see through your facade, Gandalf Greyhame!"

Gandalf shook his head, and replied: "You see nothing, Saruman. I do not long for power, and mastery over others! But listen, will you not come down? Is it not time, perhaps, to think on other things? Do you have, even, something you may wish to undo, something to unsay?"

Mentally, Gandalf spoke to Saruman: I will give you a way out..be wise enough to take it..my comrades long for justice!

Saruman looked at him sharply, hearing him both physically and mentally, and Gandalf again felt his terror at being cornered, at being so close to death- to being trapped.

He frowned, and answered:

"Unsay? What have I to unsay? Come down? You do take me for a fool! I know your wild tree-demons are still near! Come down, yes, of course, so that you may have your fiends trample me!"

Gandalf shook his head, and said firmly:

"The treacherous are ever distrustful! But listen to me, you need not fear for your skin! I do not wish to kill you, or hurt you, and you would know that, if you really understood me."

Mentally, Gandalf strained to reach him before it was too late:

Do not be a fool, Curumo! I can not restrain Théoden forever, will you not take the way I set before you, to save yourself?

Saruman hesitated, and then seemed to be deep in thought- the conflict on his face was obvious, and Gandalf spoke again:

"Come down, Saruman! And your life will be spared!"

And Saruman, feeling the fury again at being cornered- and by his lesser! - seethed at the very idea of needing mercy, and roared back to him:

"Save your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!"

And before anyone could speak again he raised the Staff and sent down a fireball at Gandalf- it enveloped him, to the horror of the comrades, and to the delight of Saruman.

But his relief was short-lived- as the smoke cleared, Gandalf still remained, very much unscathed, and looking up at him with an unreadable expression.

Saruman felt his heart fail for dread- now, the retribution would be terrible!

Before he could move, Gandalf spoke to him in a clear and steady voice:

"Saruman- your Staff is broken!"

And broken it was indeed, and as Saruman watched in horror and dismay, the staff simply disintegrated in his hand.

He choked back the deep fear, and forced himself to remain standing, facing his enemy. Gandalf simply stared back up at him, and then finally spoke, after what seemed like an eternal silence.

"Saruman- your wisdom is not acting on your behalf this day! Now: for the last time- come down! I give you my oath you will not be harmed!"

He turned back to the others: "Will you all respect my wishes in this?"

One by one, the parties nodded in assent, but Théoden only flushed in anger.

But against Gandalf's stern expression he gave way, and finally nodded.

Gandalf turned back to Saruman:

"Come down, there is nothing for you here now. By force, or by peace, we will retake Isengard. You know this. I would see you live. Are you willing to do so?"

Saruman suddenly hissed a reply to Gandalf in his mind, not wanting it shared:

I do not wish to be a prisoner! I cannot- I cannot!

Gandalf answered him mentally:

You will not be taken. You will be free- and by that I mean free- free of bond or restraint- free to go anywhere you wish, even Mordor, if that is your wish. But you must realize- worse than death awaits you at Mordor! Come with us, will you not fight by my side again, as we did once before?

Saruman swallowed hard, and clenched his jaw nervously. And then, as the little party below watched, equally nervous, he turned and disappeared.

They all watched the front door of Orthanc with deep apprehension, and finally- Saruman appeared- with Grima behind him, very pale.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted. Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...

Gandalf held his breath as the two figures slowly approached him through the mud- he saw a distinct look of distaste on Saruman’s face as he slogged through the thick bog that now surrounded Isengard.

Merry and Pippin cringed at the sight of the great wizard's approach.

Saruman stood directly in front of Gandalf, and after a tense moment, finally spoke:

“Well? We are here, now what? Is it not time to call out the tree-demons, so they may murder us?”

Gandalf furrowed his brows sternly, and replied:

“Do not be so foolish, Curumo. You have shown you still have great capacity for wisdom. You will accompany us back to Edoras.”

Saruman gave a strange look, and said:

“So that is your plan- take us to where others may do your dirty work for you! For what could await us in Edoras than our own doom?”

Gandalf sighed, and said softly:

“You ought to know better. If I wished your death, Saruman- you would be dead! Now, we shall return to Edoras, if you are willing- or you may go elsewhere, if you wish. If you do so, you must know the tremendous danger you are in. The Dark Lord is not the fool you take him to be, and he is fully aware of your double-dealings.”

Saruman said nothing, and merely scowled. Grima looked at him, shocked, and not understanding.

Gandalf continued:

“Have further wisdom, Saruman: come back with me, you will be safe, both of you. Do not flee into the forest, for you will be easy prey for Sauron’s fiends!”

Saruman looked away, to the great Fangorn Forest. He shivered slightly- he had no real desire to go there.

He looked at Théoden, behind Gandalf, some distance.

“And what of him- the – ‘king’? I would never turn my back on someone who has threatened me directly! Does he not even now plot my execution?”

Gandalf turned back to face Théoden- “Théoden, King- I would have your answer- will these two be untouched in your Hall? Will you show mercy?”

Théoden grimaced, and looked back at Saruman, the hatred plainly visible. For his part, Saruman returned his glare, with equal fire and dislike.

Gandalf knit his brows, frustrated- this was no time or place for vengeance, these two were defeated, and broken. Now was the time for restraint, and not bitterness.

Finally, Théoden spoke:

“Gandalf, you would have me show mercy to – this murderer? This black hearted traitor? And then, what of justice? For Grima -” –he looked at Wormtongue, bruised and pale, and his heart relented.

“For Grima, I will show leniency. He may come back to my Hall, and if he is willing, be redeemed. For Saruman- I see no way around- some sort of justice for him. Such evil cannot go unpaid for!”

“Idiot! Old imbecile!” Saruman hissed.

Gandalf whirled back to him “Be silent, Curumo! Do you not see I bargain for your life today?”

Saruman curled his lip under his beard. “You need not!”

Gandalf glared at him, and merely replied: “Once again, we disagree. Think of it as a selfish move, on my part, if you are more at ease with that idea, then mere concern for your well-being.”

He turned once again to Théoden –

“Théoden, I have fought at your side, and stood by you in all things. But I will not allow any more death, if it can be avoided. I have no authority to insist that you pardon Saruman- but I would ask- again- that you will give me a promise of his safety in Edoras. I ask you to give him sanctuary- will you not do this, at least in deference to me?”

Théoden’s face grew very dark, and at length, he replied:

“Gandalf Greyhame, you truly ask a very great deal. But I will assent. However- you must keep a watch on this snake, so that Rohan is not further injured by him!”

Gandalf exhaled slowly, in deep relief. He went back to Saruman, and received the Keys of Orthanc from him.

Horses were brought, and, with their new companions, the company set out for Edoras.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted. Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...

As they rode towards Edoras, Gandalf noted with some degree of concern that Théoden would occasionally draw to the side one of his men, and then after some hushed conferring, break apart again.

He narrowed his eyes, deeply suspicious. Something was clearly wrong- but what?

Saruman rode apart from the others, staying more closely to Gandalf than any of the others. He did not entirely trust him, and he certainly was not pleased at the way things were turning out- but had not

Gandalf attempted to aid him, even in his misguided and unwanted way of pity?

Gandalf rode closer to him- “Curumo…” -speaking in Quenyan now- “Have a care…stay closer by my side, here.” With a movement of his head, he nodded in a subtle fashion towards the Rohirrim- who were returning their glances with equal interest.

Saruman nodded grimly.

It was not a terribly far journey to Edoras- and at length they arrived, weary and famished.

Gandalf dismounted first, and then Saruman- Gandalf turned briefly to address the hobbits, and a clatter sounded, causing him to turn back around.

There- surrounded by many long Rohirrim spears pointed at his chest, stood Saruman, his expression one of bitter anger- but no real surprise.

“What are you doing!” Gandalf cried to them- “I gave him my word! Take those weapons away!”

Théoden strode forward purposefully, saying in aloud, exultant voice:

“ No! Gandalf Greyhame- your authority ends here! We are in my Kingdom, now!”

Gandalf clutched his Staff in anger and dismay, and replied in a hoarse tone:

“Théoden! I gave him my promise!”

Théoden smiled unpleasantly: “ Yes..*your* promise. I gave no such promise. You exceed your authority, Gandalf!”

Saruman stood stock still, suddenly very lucidly aware of the desire to not be run through. He looked at Gandalf with a mixture of fear, suspicion, and anger.

Gandalf controlled his rapidly rising anger- and said in a softer voice:

“Nay, Théoden, has there not been enough dying? Is all mercy gone from your heart?”

Théoden motioned to Grima, who still sat on his horse, his face blank and shocked.

Théoden looked over at Saruman: “I have given all the mercy I intend to! This criminal- this killer! – will face my judgment, and that of the people of Rohan!”

Gandalf shook his head, and started in the direction of the circle of Rohirrim weapons- and Théoden shouted to him “ Do not intervene! If you do – I will give the word, and this will be settled here and now, and then- I will simply hoist the body for the people to find some solace in!”

The hobbits gasped in unison, and Gandalf felt his fury flash before his eyes. Saruman made no sound, but his eyes had widened somewhat.

“Théoden!”

“No, Gandalf. I do not understand your sympathy for this traitor- it is most disappointing- but this is where it ends- take him to the prison!”

Saruman did not move, and the Rohirrim jabbed their spears at him, and when he still did not move- never taking his eyes off Gandalf- one of the men prodded him with the sharp end of his spear.

“Cease! Do not do that to him!” Gandalf started forward again, and Saruman shook his head- “No- Gandalf- I will go- you have heard this horse lover- they will simply kill me here and now!”

Gandalf watched helplessly as Saruman walked towards the prison, as the men went around him, a circle of bristling weapons.

He turned to Théoden, eyes blazing- “Have you now, too, lost your wits! What are you doing! He is not even sane, anymore! Will you truly require his life- the life of a deranged being?”

Theoden glared at him- “I am sorry your pity ends at the doorstep of Orthanc alone- and I suppose- reserved only for your own kind! But when you have lost a son, and countless of your people to a traitor, perhaps you will ask no such questions!”

He turned and walked away, leaving Gandalf to stare at him in horror and sadness.

And then, muttering, he also turned, and headed back to his company, for a conference of his own.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted. Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...

Midnight.

 

The moon shone full and huge over Rohan, and as Gandalf stole his way to the prison, the countryside seemed bathed in an unearthly haze.

He had spoken at length with the others, and though they did not entirely agree with what he was about to do, neither did they try to dissuade him.

Silently, he walked up to the front- and his heart sank, as he saw two guards. One of them had fallen asleep- but the other- who now nudged his companion urgently- was very much awake.

“Greetings, Gandalf Greyhame!” The first guard said nervously.

Gandalf replied in an even tone “And to you, my friend! I am here to visit Saruman the White- whom you hold within.”

“The traitor? At midnight, my lord?”

Gandalf knit his brows fiercely, and the man shrank back.

“Y-Yes, of course. You may enter, Gandalf”

The men moved aside, intimidated.

Inside, there was another guard on duty- but Theoden, in his joy over capturing Saruman, had been very careless. He was very lightly guarded.

Gandalf strained to see in the near darkness- and lit the crystal at the end of the Staff.

He made his way to the cells, and finally, finding all empty, proceeded to the end cell- and there- in the cold and damp- was Saruman, lying as if asleep.

“Saruman!” Gandalf whispered harshly, “Saruman- wake up! Make haste!”

He lifted the Staff again, and the lock opened with a soft clang.

Saruman slowly stirred, and Gandalf could see they had given him no cover, no bedding at all- and it was very cold. Punishment, no doubt.

“Who is there?” Saruman said, in his deep rumbling voice, now oddly weak.

“It is I, Gandalf- get up, Curunir!”

Saruman sat up, and in the half light Gandalf could see the large black and blue bruises on his pale face.

“Saruman! What- what did they do to you?”

Saruman frowned, as if in annoyance at the foolish question.

“What do you imagine they did, you fool! The same as I would have done, in this circumstance! Beat me until I fell, and then- I suppose, had at me some more. It is nothing I do not understand.”

Gandalf looked at him, and the marks of the beating, appalled.

“Curunir- I – I am so very sorry. But no time now, for pity, we have no time at all! Get up- hurry!”

Saruman looked at him blankly- “What are you babbling about? I heard the horse-filth speaking in the hall earlier- they shall hang me at dawn- I suppose they shall all have their hands in their trousers when they do it! Now, get out of here, you have done enough to ‘help’ me.”

Gandalf finally lost his patience: “Get up, old fool! I am trying to save your life!”

Saruman looked at him with confusion, and then understood.

“You- would – do this- for me? Betray your comrade?”

Gandalf sighed, very annoyed, trying desperately to get him to get up.

“You have been my comrade as well, Saruman, before reason left you. And as for Theoden- he has betrayed my trust as well. Will you get up!!”

Saruman finally stood then, and Gandalf saw he was shivering.

“Not even a blanket! Here – take this!” He handed Saruman his over cloak, and Saruman stared at him, speechless.

Gandalf pushed him to the open cell door.

“You fool! GO! We have no time- move!”

The guard inside was still quite soundly asleep, but there were still the two at the gate. Gandalf thought frantically of what he would say to them- and then he realized there was only one way to do this.

As they emerged from the prison, Gandalf only allowed the guards one startled glance before he raised his Staff, and brought down unconsciousness on both of them.

He motioned behind the prison, where he had tethered Shadowfax and another horse.

“Come on, haste, haste!”

 

They mounted the horses -and were gone into the moonlight.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted. Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...

They rode for hours, until at length, Saruman rode close to Gandalf and muttered he must rest, he was too weary, and too weak – Gandalf frowned- if they were caught, it would be the end of Saruman, and he knew that well.

But he pulled Shadowfax back to a slow trot with a whispered word, and they headed for a small grove, framed in the bright moonlight.

Gandalf- ever prudent and cautious- waited until Saruman dismounted- and then he too leapt down from his horse.

He walked to Saruman, who leaned against a large tree, looking very pale, even for him.

“Curunír..they hurt you more badly than you let me know.. I can see that now..”

Saruman looked at him tiredly, and made no reply.

“Will you allow me to see how bad it is?”

Gandalf spoke the words as carefully and gently as he could, but Saruman shook his head, and looked away.

Gandalf felt a strange sense of dread, and pressed further: “Curunír—I must ask you again- if you are injured more seriously than we know—there are things that may be done to help you!”

Saruman lost all patience, now, feeling pressured, and hissed a biting “No!” back at him.

Gandalf sighed, and relented. He did not wish to push too hard about this.

He had a feeling he already knew what had happened. Saruman was deeply hated in Rohan, as an arch enemy, and even worse, a traitor of the king. It was no surprise that the soldiers would have given him the full extent of their anger and rage, up to the point of actually killing him.

Gandalf nodded, saying “Very well, then. I – I was merely concerned for you.”

Saruman looked him clearly in the eyes, and muttered, “Whatever has been done, is already done, Gandalf. I need no medical attention, if that is your concern. What was done... what was done will heal—in time.” He looked away again, and Gandalf nodded in assent.

“If you change your mind, you have only to tell me, then.”

In silence, later, they sat by the fire, and Gandalf insisted Saruman eat some of the food he had made— he was resisted at first, but eventually it was accepted.

Gandalf would have greatly preferred that they had ridden further, but it was obvious that Saruman was extremely uncomfortable, and in some considerable pain.

And so, they made their camp in this place, Gandalf not knowing precisely what his next move would be, and Saruman only being grateful to be free, at least for the moment.

Gandalf spread out the blankets, and Saruman watched him impassively—then, finally, he spoke:

“Mithrandir- why did you do this? Why- did you- save me?”

Gandalf looked at him, baffled by the question.

Then, he replied: “You cannot understand it? Firstly, you surrendered in good faith, and I gave you my word for your safety- second, Théoden sentencing you to death was unexpected and a shock to me, although perhaps it ought not to have been. You- are my brother, Curumo- and you were once my friend, and my mentor. I was not willing to sacrifice you. It is as simple as that.”

Saruman stared at him, still stunned. And then, he spoke again, much more softly:

"I- am grateful. I never expected you to do this, not after- all that has happened. Not after I--" He stopped then, and looked down.

Gandalf sighed quietly, and murmured, “Curunír- come lie down. I bear you no hatred, no bitterness. Let us salvage the situation, as best we can, hm?” He smiled, and Saruman finally relaxed somewhat, and slowly- and painfully- lay down next to him, stretching out his long legs.

They lay in the moonlight for a long while, both unable to sleep, and then the moon was obscured by clouds, and darkness descended.

Gandalf felt the chill of the night increase greatly, and he turned to Saruman, who, as he found, was looking at him as well, barely discernable in the dark.  
  
“It is cold tonight.” he said quietly, and Gandalf saw he was slightly shivering with the cold. It was more than cold, it was bitter, and Saruman was hardly dressed for the chill.

Gandalf frowned – “Come closer, this is no time for seclusion.” Saruman looked at him in the darkness, and then silently moved closer, too cold and uncomfortable to be aloof. He felt the unaccustomed warmth of Gandalf next to him, and felt as well a strange comfort in it. He was used to being all alone, and usually preferred it.

Still, the cold bit through.

He trembled even though he tried desperately to restrain it, and Gandalf, being Gandalf, immediately noticed.

Saruman shrank back, as Gandalf wrapped warm and comforting arms around him, very surprised, as well as very grateful. But although there was great solace in being embraced, he was ill at ease, being so unused to it. He tried to relax, but found it very difficult. A kind touch, or indeed, any affection at all, was an alien concept.

Gandalf sought to give him a sense of ease- “Curunir, pray, be easy now, I do not mean to alarm you, or cause you discomfort. Let me warm you..I know you are very cold.” Saruman listened in silence, unsure of just how to respond. There was comfort in the warmth, so much so that it was pleasure, and yet, he was still uncomfortable with being touched.

But in the darkness, the arms increased their ardor, and acting on an impulse that came from somewhere deep within, Gandalf sought and found his old friend's lips, cold with the chill, and pressed his own upon them, gently, slowly, but with no hesitation.

Saruman was far too stunned to even resist, and he only made a startled gasp, and then felt the excitement of the kiss – had he ever experienced this intense a thrill before?- he did not think so, in all his long, long life. The desire to protest came and went, more quickly than he could have ever imagined.

With a reluctance born more of fear of rejection, than lack of desire, he put his own long arm around Gandalf’s neck in return – the warmth was both soothing and arousing, and they pressed together with greater urgency.

In only a moment, they were entwined legs and arms alike, and Gandalf felt his heart thunder with excitement. “Curumo..” he whispered, using the ancient Quenyan name, “ Curumo..let us join together, more fully..” he stroked Saruman’s long back through the robes, and then slid his hand underneath. Saruman gasped loudly, suddenly feeling Gandalf’s hand upon him, boldly, shockingly.

For his part, Gandalf laid hold of him with a great urgency, gently yet with much ardor. Saruman settled against him with a soft moan, and let himself be stroked by the warm and loving fingers. It was nothing he had ever expected, but now that it was happening, he could not fight it, and had no desire to do so.

Their lips met again, and then Saruman found his will at last, his strength and passionate nature, and took the upper hand, moving onto Gandalf with regal grace. Gandalf allowed it, and murmured in his ear, “Curumo...is this how you desire it..? for you shall have it, if you do..”

“It is..it is, for now, the only way it may be done..” He hoped Gandalf would understand, and there would be no more need for explanation.

He did, and there was no need for any more words.

Increasingly aggressive, but not in a vicious fashion, but rather more of urgent desire, Saruman urged Gandalf down onto him- Gandalf complied easily, and took in the sense and smell with an aching in his heart and body alike. One hand caressing the soft silver curls that encircled the large and very engorged organ, he took it into his eager mouth, as Saruman groaned and arched up against him.

For some minutes, Gandalf worked on him in loving silence, as Saruman ran his long fingers through his tangled white hair. And then, he was suddenly pulled away by the strong hands, and Saruman urged him onto his back, breathing very hard, eyes dilated with the fog of arousal.

The moon came out again, at last, and in the moonlight, the two bodies joined under the comforting embrace of the heavy covers, under the starry sky, straining hotly together.

Slickened by Gandalf’s attentions, Saruman slid into him slowly, carefully- it was still very tight, and he took great care to move cautiously. Gandalf shivered in mingled pleasure and pain, as Saruman entered him fully, and then his movements quickened, attaining that ancient rhythm, known from the beginning of the worlds.

“Curumo, Curumo, lisse..lisse..!” Gandalf swam in an ocean of pleasure now, as Saruman drove into him ever harder, ever more passionately.

Saruman closed his eyes and sensed it coming, that exquisite culmination, how long had it been? Rare were his lovers, and they had never stayed long, driven away by his fearful temper and unpredictable – even- dangerous mood swings.

Briefly, he thought of Sauron- the beautiful face, the deadly deceit- yes, Sauron had taken him, and then he had returned the favor, and it was a horrific and wondrous experience. As a result of the seduction of both the Ring and its magnificent maker, he had sold himself utterly to him, and yet- now--

This was love- this was acceptance, grace, all things that Sauron would mock him for, perhaps even kill him for now.

His troubled thoughts, so out of place in this moment of lovemaking, were shattered by Gandalf clutching him in desperate passion, muttering lovingly to him, in a voice awash with ecstasy and love.

He leaned forward far, and they kissed softly, even as Saruman felt the tide of sensation crash through him, drowning him, causing him to moan into Gandalf’s mouth as they arched together violently.

And later, as the moon was obscured again, and this time by far stormier clouds, Saruman thought he heard a far away mental voice, murmuring softly, sweetly, words of threat and rage...

...and as sleep found him, lying in Gandalf’s sated embrace, his last mental image was of an impossibly fair face, scornfully bent into an angry smile, glowering, a face so beautiful you could die for it, lose your very soul, just for one touch...


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted. Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...

.***Gandalf is Dreaming***

 

 

Sauron is standing on a balcony – it is not Barad-Dur- where, then?- looking forlornly out at the sunset, a too-red sunset.

Angband?

Is this the past? Gandalf wonders in his dream-thought.

A larger figure emerges from behind Sauron, looming, taller, blacker.

Sauron turns to the approaching shape, and his face looks distraught, frightened, a dismayed tension.

The other face, he cannot see it, and troubled, Gandalf tosses uneasily in his sleep.

And then, the black figure leans over Sauron, who suddenly seems so small, and takes him in his arms, and he leans back, his long golden hair falling downwards.

The face turns, and Gandalf can see it now.

Terrible, this face, hideous in its cruelty, its sadism. It would be strikingly handsome, but the vicious expression mars the fairness.

In his deep sleep, Gandalf thrashes, unhappy images flickering in his head.

Morgoth.

Sauron seems to cringe in his arms, and submits, the look on his face says everything, and Gandalf begins to understand, for the first time. In sheer terror, Sauron is dominated to the point of madness, in the thrall of a love so horrific it is agony.

Sauron reaches to touch his Master’s face, carefully stroking the fierce fire, in a misery of desire and fear.

Morgoth smiles down at him, and crushes him to his chest. And then lowers him to the floor, spinning him around with one magical hand.

It is black. Burned from the Sils, blackened forever.

There is no chance of escape, and even if there were, it would not be accepted.

Morgoth lowers his massive body, with all its vast Valar strength, down onto Sauron, and there is no resistance, even as the long black robes are torn from his body, and his legs are brutally spread apart by the charred ruin of Morgoth’s huge hand.

Appalled, Gandalf does not want to see anymore, he has already learned far more than he wanted to know.

But the dream will not end yet.

With Morgoth’s giant body pressing onto him, Sauron cannot even struggle, he is utterly pinned and overpowered.

Very much against his will, Gandalf sees the look in Sauron’s eyes as Morgoth thrusts into him savagely, slamming him hard onto the cold floor on his belly.

He will never forget that look.

Pain, so much pain.

With a shudder, he finally awakens, in a frozen sweat, shaking.

Gandalf looks over at Saruman, still soundly asleep, adrift in a sea of his own worries.

Unable to sleep after such horror, he rises quietly and goes for his pipe, and sits for a while, lost in thought.

**I never knew, I never imagined**.

Poor creature.

At length, he finally relaxes again, and carefully lies down again next to Saruman, still very weary and needing rest.

But again it comes, relentless in its determination to reveal all to him.

Now it seems to be over, the violation. And was it even necessary? Would Sauron not have given himself, freely, willingly? But Morgoth desired hurting him, that was the obvious answer.

Gandalf sees the two of them sitting inside now, Morgoth on a great chair- a throne, really- and Sauron sits by his feet, silent, sulking-in pain. Morgoth is stroking his hair absently, lost in meditation of some soon-to-be-executed evil, no doubt, Gandalf thinks to himself.

Suddenly, he speaks, and the dream-air quakes with the power of it.

“He is watching us, little Maia.”

Gandalf realizes that both Morgoth and Sauron are staring at him, now, and he also sees that Sauron is wearing an iron collar, and Morgoth is holding his chain, tightly.

When is this? *Where* is this?

Morgoth begins to laugh, but Sauron only lowers his head, humbled, enslaved.

Morgoth lifts his other hand, and brings down a black whip on Sauron’s back. He collapses under it, with a choked sound.

Gandalf cries out, Stop, stop!

And then he is once again awake, this time his heart is racing dangerously, and this time he will not lie back down.

What was that? Not the past...but the future? The Void!

Sauron’s fate. To fall into the merciless and sadistic power of his master, a fitting justice.

Gandalf shakes his head, sickened.

No. That may be what he deserves, but it is too pitiless, even for Gorthaur the Cruel.

Shivering from a cold that is more than just the chill air, Gandalf looks into the sunrise, and prays the Valar may show the best way, the noblest way.

And then closes his eyes, feeling the consuming pressure from Mordor.

 

 

Dear Nienna, show me the path, show me a path of mercy and justice.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted. Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...

Gandalf and Saruman rode towards the shadowed figures in the distance, and as they drew closer, it became apparent that the dim shapes belonged to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli.

In silence they rode up, and Gandalf raised one hand in salutations. Saruman merely nodded, remembering his less-than-pleasant experience at Orthanc.

Aragorn smiled broadly: “Gandalf! We are pleased to meet up with you! We were quite concerned- I feared you might not have made it out of Edoras!”

Gandalf returned the smile, and replied: “It was very touch and go, at first. But yes, we did make good our escape!”

Saruman said nothing, and sat in silence, regarding the others with cool disinterest.

Gandalf sighed wearily, and continued:

“I believe the most prudent course of action is to go separately on to Gondor, and for you to take another route as well. The fewer in our parties, the less attention we will attract.”

He paused-and then added: “Where are Merry and Pippin?”

Legolas answered him:

“We thought it best to leave them in Rohan, for now, until we found out what had happened. There are trusted ones there, who will bring them to Gondor, as it is deemed suitable.”

Aragorn frowned grimly, and then spoke in a grave and troubled voice:

“The Black Hand moves in Mordor, spreading darkness across the lands. Already, there is a fell shroud over us- look!”

He looked upwards, and they all looked to see an approaching mistlike blackness, covering the face of Anor itself.

Saruman went very pale, watching it.

Sauron was arising in anger and wrath, and was growing desperate, as the hour grew short..

And no enemy is ever as dangerous as a desperate enemy.

He turned to Gandalf, and murmured, in a low voice:

“What if we faced this menace, head on, instead of cowering like frightened and feeble children? Well, indeed, do I know Sauron, Gorthaur..the Cruel, indeed! You have no idea, Mithrandir- no idea what you are up against! But I do- better than any of you!”

They all turned to face him, listening, cautious, hesitant.

Gandalf smiled at him, and replied: “Speak then, my old friend! Tell us what you know of Sauron, and how you believe we may best deal with him!”

Saruman looked at the anxious and mistrustful faces watching him, and then with a heavy sigh, he answered:

“There is only one way to do this- to deal with him- and have there be anything left of this world afterwards. We must go to Mordor, ourselves, and slay the Enemy! Your vain hope in this Ringbearer, what if he does not prevail, what if he fails, and falls? Then so do we all! Nay, then, it is far too late! I know all the secret ways into Mordor, and I know the secrets of the Great Eye- he was very close to embodiment, last I scryed the Palantir! He will be- mortal- by now. We can kill him, Gandalf.”

Gandalf listened intently to every word that Saruman imparted to him, and could find no lie, no deception.

He was telling the truth.

“Kill him…” Gandalf murmured. “It is highly risky, deadly dangerous…and I had hoped..there might be another way…”

Saruman snorted scornfully. “Another way! What other way? Do you prefer death for all of us, then, to carrying out his? Did you think it would come to anything less? If we do not end his ill-begotten life- he will end all of ours! This is a war, do you recall that?”

He frowned darkly. “This is not time for leniency, or mercy, Gandalf. He could surrender at any time- but he will not! But I tell you: if we go to Barad-Dur to do this- we must finish him! If we give him a chance to deceive us, he will either turn on us, and make an end of us, or flee, and it will- assuredly-begin again!”

Gandalf looked down, musing on this.

He knew that it was very likely that if they were to defeat Sauron, it would end in his death. And Saruman was correct- this was war, and a terrible one, at that.

One death, to end all the other killing…

He looked to Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas.

“What say you?”

Aragorn nodded, and Legolas and Gimli looked at one another, and then Legolas spoke:

“Sauron came to my people in the Second Age, as you all know, and turned the love, and trust, of one of my own kind, into a trap and a blasphemy. Curunír speaks the unkind truth- the Abhorred will settle for naught less than our deaths, or his. It- it is his nature- he will not relent, or change. He has had thousands of years to cease hostilities!”

Gandalf nodded sadly, and muttered: “One of our own kind..a Maia…”

Saruman grunted, scowling. “As are the Balrogs! Sauron feels no kinship to us, Gandalf, he hates us, and cares for no living creature. His ability to love died when Morgoth did, I believe.”

Gandalf shook his head, and whispered: “And how do you propose we carry out this – assassination?”

Saruman sighed again- “It will not be easy. He will be in a young, strong body, agile, and he will give us a very hard time if we give him the chance. We must be- very swift. I believe- the best way is- a sword through the heart, from behind. It will take all our stealth and cunning to catch him by surprise.”

He considered a moment, and then added coldly: “He will be extraordinarily powerful in this body. The sword-thrust…it may not finish him immediately. We must be prepared- for this- and to do what must be done- to completion.”

They all wore uncomfortable, but determined expressions, at this, and Gandalf finally spoke again, to end the tension they all felt:

“Very well! We shall undertake to end the menace of Mordor, and to put paid to Sauron’s pitiless ambitions!”

Saruman nodded slowly, but in his own heart he was deeply worried- Gandalf was determined, as they all were- but in a close situation- would he carry out the- assassination, as he called it? Would he relent, costing them their lives in the process?

Saruman said no more, but to himself he made a vow: If Gandalf found pity at the wrong moment, and endangered their lives, and Arda itself, he would carry out the task himself.

 

 

No matter what.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted. Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...

Gandalf and Saruman began to prepare for the mission at hand, as were Aragorn and the others.

Legolas walked to where Gandalf was putting together the last of his provisions- and he now wore his Elven blade, along with bow and quiver. He also carried a strangely shaped long dagger.

“Mithrandir.”

Gandalf smiled at the young Elf- “Yes, Legolas?”

Legolas paused, choosing his words very carefully- “Mithrandir- there are some things I would like to- ah- mention-”

Gandalf nodded: “Please, continue, then.”

Legolas spoke very gently, then, and begin to tell Gandalf the things he wished he did not have to know.

“Very well. This-” he held up the long, startlingly sharp dagger, curved slightly at one point- “This is what you will use if- the sword does not- complete the task. It is curved in a certain fashion, to hasten death- it will sever the carotid artery very swiftly, and death will follow within a matter of moments, due to vast blood-loss. You must handle it with extreme care, it is sharper than any blade you will ever carry! If the sword thrust goes awry, or if he simply does not fall to it- you will bring this up to his throat quickly, and slash deeply across- the blade will do the rest, as it was created to do.”

Gandalf shuddered. He had been in many battles, but sitting down and discussing this- as if they were preparing to slaughter a sheep- gave him the horrors.

Legolas smiled kindly. “Are you alright, Mithrandir? I know you do not enjoy this, and nor do I- my people loathe killing- but when it must be done- we do it well- and cleanly.”

Gandalf nodded, somewhat pale.

He continued, as Saruman listened impassively, untroubled.

“I do not need to tutor you on the use of Glamdring, I know you could put me to shame! But I will only add, that if you do indeed strike him from behind, you must take care to angle it correctly- or you will only hit a lung- and that will be- ” –he frowned- “That will not be what you want to have happen.”

Gandalf looked down, and murmured in a soft voice: “I- I do not wish to cut his throat…”

Saruman frowned darkly.

Legolas shook his head. “It will not be as you fear, Mithrandir, it is very different with an Elven blade such as this. It will not be a ghastly horror, it will be clean, and swift beyond measure- but there will be a great deal of blood. Perhaps you will not have to do it, but if you do- it will be very, very fast. And you will have to… you will have to finish him, Mithrandir- the only cruel act would be to fail to do so. ”

Gandalf nodded, looking rather ill.

Legolas straightened, uneasy.

“If you are fortunate enough- for all of you! – to strike cleanly and surely, you will not need to do more. The sword will finish him.”

Saruman shook his head, and spoke for the first time: “Nay, do not be so sure! Sauron spoke to me of his forming body. He had already begun it. It is powerful, far beyond what a normal mortal body consists of. I do not expect this to be- swift.”

Gandalf sighed, and Legolas frowned again.

Aragorn approached, and he was followed by Gimli.

Legolas looked at Saruman, watching him. What if this were simply an elaborate trap, laid by Saruman, and Sauron himself, to snare Gandalf? The ancient Istar had shown no sign of emotion whatsoever as they had discussed the blade, and its applications.

Legolas supposed it simply did not disturb him.

And yet, he was suspicious.

Aragorn drew his sword, and looked at it. Legolas and Gimli exchanged glances, amused at some private joke.

Saruman spoke suddenly: “Has anyone given any thought to how we may breach the hold at Barad-Dur?”

“A distraction.” Aragorn said, calmly. “We shall create a distraction, and that will give the two of you- ” he nodded to the Istari- “Time to enter- or so we shall pray.”

They all looked at one another, the realization of the vast danger of what they were about to attempt, finally sinking in- and they all fell utterly silent.

And in the Black Tower- Sauron knitted his long slanted brows, glowering into the Palantir, watching, and hearing.

“Treachery!” he growled, the youthful beauty of his newly formed face- so like the one he was used to- so like the one in the very beginning- twisted in rage.

He tossed back his long shimmering hair, and scowled into the crystal orb.

“Damn you, Curumo! You shall pay in fire and torment! Aye- I shall remind you what Gorthaur means!”

He turned away, and went to the large mirror- he stared into it, appraising his long, beautiful body. His hand went down between his golden thighs, without even a moment’s hesitation.

“So fair! So fair…” he murmured, with great love.

He closed his eyes, stroking himself slowly, aroused. And then he stopped, frustrated. It was not enough.

Never enough.

He stalked back to the Palantir, and hissed into it : “Coming to kill me, are you! Come then! Come, and be reminded of who I am – and what I am capable of!”

And then he strode back to the mirror again, and grudgingly resumed his self-love.

 

I need…more…he thought, dreamily. More…


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Co. confront Saruman at Isengard: VOS Revisted. Saruman gets- and takes- the second chance. And Sauron has some very unusual problems of his own...

Gandalf looked down at the long curved blade in his hand, troubled.

So much killing.

Just one more life, and then- it could end all this.

He had not deluded himself: the very act of sending Frodo to attempt to destroy the Ring, was a move to end Sauron’s physical life- of that, he was very certain.

There was no other way- as had been noted, there had been countless years for repentance- or even simply to cease the assaults. The only thing that ever slowed him at all, was being forced out of a body- and as soon as he was able to incarnate, it always began again.

He did not belong here.

But Gandalf had envisioned the end as coming as a sort of vague and distant event- painless, even- simple dissolution- a swift and very just disembodiment- not- not this – this planned assassination.

( murder )

Was it murder, then?

Gandalf shook his head, muttering.

How was it not- if they stole upon Sauron as he slept, perhaps, and thrust a sword into him, as he lay defenseless, unaware, even helpless?

Everything Gandalf knew of honor- and simple decency- told him that there was no honor in what they were about to attempt.

And yet, something even deeper, told him it would be the greater mercy to all, in the end.

Unhappily, he went to his bags one more time, and then picked up the chains he had secured from Aragorn.

Saruman had seen them, and asked him, in an accusatory tone, why would he bring those? We are not taking any prisoners, he had noted flatly. It was a statement, not a question.

“There is always a chance.” Gandalf said aloud, to no one.

And then he packed the chains into his bag, and went to join the others.

It was nearly time to leave.

But Sauron had problems of his own, that had nothing to do with being assaulted.

Barad-Dur stood in silent majesty, betraying none of its Master’s misery within.

In his ancient darkened chamber, Sauron lay on his huge crimson covered bed, wearily stroking his now sore member, striving yet again to bring some sort of release- anything, now, really.

It had been so long, so very long.

He could not even recall the last orgasm he had experienced- it had been many, many years ago, and in yet another incarnation of himself.

When was it, anyway?

And who was it with?

Angband? No, of course not. This was not about love- or feelings. Those had gone away with Melkor.

When was the last time that he had fallen asleep satisfied, cock limp in spent pleasure, body relaxed, instead of- well, instead of this.

His muscles were taut and strained, and his stomach was clenched in effort, as he tried yet again.

“Please- ” he whispered, nearly sobbing, and then he controlled himself. What would the Orc-filth think, if they could see and hear all this!

“It doesn’t matter.” he answered himself.

“Please, just once. Let it come, just once.”

He blamed the Valar, all of them generally, but Manwe in particular. This was their idea of forcing a warped punishment on him, since he had evaded them all these years.

In reality, of course, it had nothing to do with them at all.

But it pleased him to believe this.

It was simply a matter of a flaw in the body itself, having been formed with black magic and spellcraft, and against the express wishes of the Creator. After Numenor- Sauron was not to come to Arda again.

Ever.

But he had done so anyway, and fashioned bodies for himself, very like his original one. He remembered every vein, every muscle, every hair. So it was not difficult.

Only forbidden.

He remembered now, and smiled.

The Black Easterling.

One of the Nazgul, now, but before, a mighty king of the East.

In the night of the king’s deadly deal with Sauron, they had coupled in mad and desperate lust, and he had given Sauron one of the strongest orgasms of his entire existence, taking him just as he needed to be taken, roughly, brutally, making him scream.

Of course, now the king was no longer in any kind of authority over Sauron, sexual or otherwise.

But that night- Sauron sighed deeply, remembering the shocking ecstasy of being totally restrained and dominated.

The king had rutted him nearly in two, and he had not believed such pleasure was possible with a mortal. Certainly, he had not experienced anything close to it since- since Melkor.

“Oh, Bauglir.” he moaned, one hand reaching up to caress his chest. Bauglir. Constrainer.

He arose with sorrow and frustration enshrouding him, and looked out one of the windows of the massive Tower.

A Nazgul circled slowly on an airborne beast, and as he swept past, he looked towards the window.

 

 

Sauron suddenly dared to hope...


End file.
